


Professionalism

by Of_Heaven_And_Hell



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellamy's new, Elevators are unreliable, M/M, Murphy's v grouchy, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 00:27:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6216274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Of_Heaven_And_Hell/pseuds/Of_Heaven_And_Hell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the anon on tumblr who requested "I saw you trying to close the elevator door but I made it in and then I pushed every single button to make you late for work but now we're stuck in this elevator and I don't even know what to say other than 'you started it'"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Professionalism

**Author's Note:**

> This came out a lot different than I had planned but, hey, things happen.
> 
> (Sorry it's so late)
> 
> (Also unedited)

// Murphy'd had a shit day.

Actually, he'd had a shit week.

It all started with Monday. Okay, so nothing out of the ordinary happened on Monday, but it was a Monday for God sakes. And he'd had to actually leave his bed. That was a struggle. A really big one. Honestly, it was.

The rest of the week his boss, Thelonious Jaha, had been extra douchey. He piled work on Murphy's desk without any regard for the other piles of work that he'd just placed on the poor, unsuspecting man's desk. And it was now January, meaning that there were new interns everywhere. They scattered about the hall like roaches and they were always so scared looking. As if one of the pristine, snobby lawyer's that Murphy worked with was going to rob them of their brand new notepads or something. Not to mention, they always managed to do everything wrong, therefore giving him more fucking work.

Then, on Thursday, Emori broke up with him because she "needed space". As if. Murphy was the king of space. In fact, they hadn't even seen each other in a month before she came to tell him the news. So, clearly, it wasn't that big of a shock. He accepted it. It wasn't even the worst part of this shit week. No, not at all.

The worst part probably wasn't even on Friday, when he'd come in to work with a killer I-just-got-dumped hangover that hurt worse than the actual breakup. He'd practically begged for a good cup of coffee as soon as he sat down. He felt heaven's gates open five minutes later, when said coffee was placed on his desk. He felt them slam shut approximately 30 seconds after that, when he took a sip. It was black. It was fucking black. Who, besides satan himself, drank coffee completely black? Interns, probably.

At this point he knew that he could only trust himself with such a task. So he'd dragged himself all the way down to the lounge room to make it himself. In the moments before he opened the door he was blissfully unaware of the tragedy to come; innocent and dressed in his favorite black sweater, because him and that sweater were really close.

In the moments after he opened the door he was aware of scalding liquid drenching his entire upper half and the apologetic look on the culprit's face.

"Wow, I'm so sorry. I didn't know you were there. I'll bu-"

"Did you just spill coffee on my sweater? Who the fuck even are you?"

"I'm Bellamy Blake, an intern." Apparently-Bellamy looked horrified by the other's language, but continued to apologize as Murphy fumed. A fucking intern. Of course. He should have known.

Apparently-Bellamy happened to be the hottest person Murphy had ever seen, with his thick dark hair and face full of freckles. In fact, if it had been any other sweater the brunette would've let it go just because of how hot he was. But it was his favorite. So instead he settled with storming off, coffee forgotten. He'd stormed right to his desk, where his boss promptly told him that he needed to work tomorrow, a Saturday.

 

// And that brought him here, to the worst part of his week. At work, on a Saturday. 8 a.m. with a meeting for those useless interns going on at the same time. Technically, he should've been here a half hour ago but that was besides the point. Or maybe it was exactly the point, seeing as he was sprinting through the lobby to get up an elevator and to his desk before he ended up fired. He was sure he'd lost at least one important paper in the rush and, to make everything worse, he saw his hair in one of the mirrors he passed. It looked exactly like it felt. Horrific.

His lungs burned by the time the elevator came in sight. It didn't matter though, because he was finally going to get inside the damn thing. But there was someone already in it, and he looked up to make eye contact with who other than Bellamy Blake. Sweater ruining, coffee spilling, dangerously hot Bellamy Blake. Murphy's steps falter in horror as he glares at the fucking intern, and that gives the man enough time to furiously press one of the buttons inside.

It must have been the one to close the door, because in a second that's what happens. 'This fucking intern' Murphy mutters. It's a matter of pride now, because no one closes a door on John Murphy and gets away with it. So he does what any normal person would do, grips his bag tighter and fucking charges.

The absolute fear in Bellamy's face is priceless, and it's value only increases as Murphy slides his body through just as the door shuts, almost cutting of a pinky.

"What is wrong with you?" The freckled man has the nerve to look surprised.

"You shut the damn door on me!"

"I was late!"

"Yea, well, me too."

"How did you even land this job? You have no sense of professionalism."

It's a valid question, one that Murphy asks himself daily, but it still grates him. "I'll have you know I was highly requested."

Bellamy only snorts in response and that's it. That's what does it. Murphy throws his papers down with determination, and pushes past the man to the buttons; pressing every single one at least twenty times.

"What are you doing?" Bellamy's frantic now, trying to shove Murphy out of the way to press the emergency help button.

"Showing you professionalism." He smirks. It's a brilliant plan. Or, at least it was until the elevator screeches to a halt. Both guys look at each other in fear as the stupid thing shifts between all of the floors, staying locked the whole time. The lights flicker rapidly until they turn off altogether.

"Fuck." Murphy sighs

"Look at what you did."

"Well, you started it." Murphy mumbles as he slides to the floor, balling up his jacket as a makeshift pillow.

"You're going to sleep?"

"That was the plan."

"How are you jus-"

"Look," Murphy interrupts, "you can join or not. Either way, they aren't going to be here till the meetings over and you're going to shut up."

Surprisingly, the man does shut up as he slides down. The glorious silence lasts about an hour before he starts this dumb ass game of twenty questions and Murphy threatens to hit him. 

In doesn't seem to deter Bellamy, who apparently really wants to know how Murphy takes his coffee, why he's such an asshole and how he got this damn job in the first place. It actually takes a good amount of time for Bellamy to convince him that this wasn't a prank, because how on earth could anyone be so obnoxious? When he finally does convince him, they're on the 17th question and he really, really is going to beat him with his own bag. In the end, however, Murphy doesn't actually hit him, with an object or not. But that's only because the intern's last question is "Will you go on a date with me?"

(So, maybe, this week wasn't all that bad.)

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed! As always, kudos and comments are very loved.
> 
> If you have any prompts or ideas for any of the 100 pairings, feel free to request on my tumblr: devotedlydecaffeinatedtyrant


End file.
